the glitch in our stars
by glasswork destruction
Summary: {–—of he who never wanted to feel and she who could never be felt.} ::Chihiro/Nanami, 50 drabbles /for the OTP and OT3 Boot Camp Challenge
1. i: heavenly

#01 |** heavenly**  
Rating | **K+**  
Genre(s) | **Drama**  
Words | **196**  
Pairing | **Chihiro Fujisaki / Chiaki Nanami**  
Done for | **The OTP and OT3 Boot Camp Challenge** (Anime and Manga Fanfiction Challenges Forum)  
A/N | _Since I'm putting my TogaFuka collection on hiatus due to declining interest, I've decided that in the meantime, I'll be writing for a certain severely underappreciated ship that is in dire need of fics—aka, Nanahiro, also known as Chihinami._  
_This is the first of fifty ficlets based on the given prompt list. Please do support the reposts on my writing blog as well; there's a link on my profile. :) Enjoy!_

* * *

**:. the gL;/!T-c*.,h' in our stars .:**  
[_one_]

.

.

.

She is soft curves and sharp angles, eyes like melting popsicles in sweltering summer and lips like morphine; sleek pale hair, kissing her shoulders with the tenderness of a lover. His hands fall, limp, from the keyboard they've been poised over for the blurred blend of hours-and-days, and he leans in—in—

"Nanami-san." His voice is hoarse, grits of sand sifting against the smooth chessboard landscape of the Otherworld.

She is porcelain and glass as she smiles, bubbles snagged in mosaics of bubblegum-pink. _"Chihiro-kun."_ The sound brushes his skin, and he shivers. Her lilt, her accent, the inflections of her voice—all is woven from the codes he remembers feeding the system like sustenance to a higher being.

Slowly, quivering, a finger lingers at the surface, as if not quite daring to touch; as if physical contact now, right now, at this very moment, would be sacrilege of her carefully sculpted features.

And slowly, gently, with the delicacy of a descending butterfly, her glowing fingers lift to meet his own, cradling the barrier between them.

_"You don't have to be alone anymore, Chihiro-kun."_

A tear falls.

And for the first time in memory, the programmer smiles.


	2. ii: titanium

#02 |** titanium**  
Rating | **K+**  
Genre(s) | **Romance**  
Words | **263**  
Pairing | **Chihiro Fujisaki / Chiaki Nanami**  
Done for | **The OTP and OT3 Boot Camp Challenge** (Anime and Manga Fanfiction Challenges Forum)

* * *

**:. the gL;/!T-c*.,h' in our stars .:**  
[_two_]

.

.

.

He thinks he can enjoy the silence with her. That is, if the dilapidated little room they share can ever be silent.

"Umm… Nanami-san…"

Nanami's head is tilted to the side, a quintessential image of a demure young lady, save for the controller she manoeuvres expertly in her deft hands. Her fingers dance lightly over the buttons with infallible timing and assurance; the writhing blocks of titanium on screen splatter and dissipate in sync with her commands.

He coughs. The sound shivers against the motes of dust that collect on the ceiling.

There is no reply.

"Nanami-san…" He casts a furtive glance back at the door. "If you don't lower the volume, my parents might wake up…"

Her lips press together into a taut line. The familiar NEW HIGHSCORE menu pulls up, and she dismisses it with an impatient zap to the next level.

"Nanami-san—"

She swivels around, head cocked, expression placid and expectant, the console from which she barrelled holes into metal pointed in his direction. He swallows.

"N-never mind. Carry on."

Her lips break into a lazy smile. _"C'mon, Chihiro-kun, play with me. It's boring, playing by myself all the time. Please?"_ she cajoles, and it must have occurred to her to use flattery to her advantage, because suddenly her eyelashes are batting at an impossible speed and just the right tint of pink tinges her cheek, which is ridiculous because AIs don't _blush_—

He compensates by burrowing headfirst into the tangled duvet, desperately attempting to subdue the simmering heat in his face and the thudding heart in his chest.


	3. iii: bus

#03 | **bus**  
Rating | **K+**  
Genre(s) | **Hurt/Comfort**  
Words | **323**  
Pairing | **Chihiro Fujisaki / Chiaki Nanami**  
Done for | **The OTP and OT3 Boot Camp Challenge** (Anime and Manga Fanfiction Challenges Forum)

* * *

**:. the gL;/!T-c*.,h' in our stars .:**  
[_three_]

.

.

.

Lint crests the surface of his dark green jacket, and he eliminates the defect with a tense flick of a finger. His eyes dart across the mirror to scan his attire for the umpteenth time, ensuring no discernable clue to his true identity is left astray. Brown skirt, black socks, white shoes…

_"Quit stalling, Chihiro-kun."_ The tremulous sentence creeps down his nape, and involuntarily, he shivers. _"__You'd better hurry along, you're running late."_

Indeed, amidst her hollow voice ringing out with that echoic trace he hasn't quite been able to rectify, he can hear the chugging of the bus parked by the curb several storeys down. The bus that will take him to Hope's Peak Academy, where he's been drafted to attend senior high. The bus that will steal him from everything he's ever known and is forced to leave behind.

He runs his tongue over dry lips, feeling the crevices in his fragile skin, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "Nanami-san, I—"

_"Don't worry about me. I'll stay right here waiting for you to come back. They'll have a lot more advanced and capable computers to work with at Hope's Peak, I'm sure."_ Her voice is as stiff and artificial as her smile—

—and is cut off abruptly as he walks over to her and swiftly taps at several keys.

_"Chihiro-kun, what are you—"_

"I'm taking you with me, of course." The screen wavers and flickers out into blank oblivion, catching her appalled expression in impasse, while he slides a minuscule cartridge between his fingers, relishing how hard and solid and _real_ it feels against his palm. "I can't leave you behind."

Outside, the bus honks. A treacherous world lies beyond the dust-flaked walls and flimsy shutters, volcanic coal-pits composed of lies and deceit. It is a world that knows neither the words _forgive_ and _forget_, nor compassion or empathy.

He swallows, and finds no saliva. "I can't."


End file.
